My, My, My
by CokeBottleK
Summary: He meets her in a tree. Innocuous enough that he should be able to forget it, but Draco Malfoy's life has never allowed him much choice in should-be's, so why would Astoria Greengrass be any different?
1. Snakeskin and the Bowtruckle Girl

**DISCLAIMER: The world of _Harry Potter _and all its affiliates belongs to J.K. Rowling, who I most decidedly am not. Title credit goes to Bon Iver's "Skinny Love." Cover art by GildingofNightfall. **

_I have found myself engrossed in the Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass ship. Here is the result - or the beginnings of the result, anyway, as this will become a multi-chapter. Had loads of fun writing this first bit, and I've got some plans for story development. To begin, this prologue, as it were, takes place in mid-September of Draco's sixth year (HBP-compliant); Chapter 2 will pick up post-war._

_For now, here's this, and I hope you like what you read. Questions, comments, concerns that you don't want to leave in a review? You can message me on Tumblr, at _**cokebottleglassesarecool**_. Catch you on the flip-side... ;D -K._

_Listening to: "The Right Kind of Wrong," by Leann Rimes._

* * *

**I. Snakeskin and the Bowtruckle Girl**

* * *

He tugged at his sleeve, and the fabric burned against his newly marked skin.

Not willing to give the nightmares any more thought than they already forced him to, Draco Malfoy dropped his hand and kept his eyes fixed out the window whose sill he was seated upon. He stared out at the grounds, not seeing much past the healthy foliage of a tree that stood just a few feet from where he restlessly lounged; the afternoon sun splashed across the green, and jet-black shadows pebbled the surface as the leaves rustled in the summer-to-autumn breeze.

Silly as it was, Draco found himself wishing idly that his existence was that uncomplicated, that steadfast and assured: Trees had a specific purpose, they were built for it, they could fulfill it without any pressure or worry or thought – conscious or otherwise – at all. Draco, meanwhile, thought too much and he didn't know which way was up, but no matter how he plagued himself, he never came to any conclusive solution, no means to his end. His purpose had been marked for him, yes, and yet... He shook his head as the thought crossed his mind again; he wasn't sure that he was built for it.

So now here he was, staring listlessly out a window and wishing he were a tree.

Pathetic.

Draco was, however, interrupted in his continual wallowing when he realized that as he watched the tree, the tree was watching him back.

"Wotcher," greeted a cheery, sugar-coated voice. The leaves rustled once more and suddenly a pair of vibrant green eyes was surveying him upside-down.

"What the –" Having become uncharacteristically skittish over the past couple of months, Draco leapt from his seat, away from the tree and the upside-down girl that had appeared there. Her flyaway dark honey hair and jade eyes offered enough camouflage that he was sure he wouldn't have noticed her at all, had she not said anything. "Who are you?"

"Astoria Greengrass," the girl said without missing a beat, "how d'you do?"

Ignoring her pleasantries, Draco asked, "What are you doing in that tree?"

"What are you doing invading my privacy?" she countered, appraising him as best she could while in such a wholly unintimidating position.

"You're hanging about like a madwoman, someone's bound to call you on it sooner or later," Draco pointed out.

Astoria's face twitched into a smirk to rival his own infamous one. "And of course Draco Malfoy's got to be the first to do everything, hasn't he?" she baited him.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm _brilliant_," she said proudly. Then, realizing quickly that Draco Malfoy wasn't one for jokes, she continued. "Aside from that, though, I'm in Slytherin, too, and you're in my sister's year. Daphne Greengrass. She's friends with that creature – you know the one, she's like your own personal leech?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco clarified, since Astoria couldn't very well be talking about anyone else. And although he'd thought of Pansy in a similar way more than once, he felt as though he should defend her against this tree-climbing stranger (or perhaps it was his own reputation he was defending, but no matter), so he added, "She's not a leech."

"Really?" Astoria lifted a skeptical eyebrow as she looked him up and down again. "You're looking rather pale to me."

"You've got some nerve, haven't you?" Draco couldn't help the note of admiration that escaped with his assessment, and he sneered to balance it out; after all, he didn't want to encourage the girl.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Although he was sure he imagined it, Draco felt another flash of pain sear his forearm. "Perhaps you should be."

"Hmmm…" Astoria seemed to consider that, but it was clear that she didn't take him seriously. She thought he did enough of that for himself, and she'd always enjoyed lightening people up, even if it was just for a good laugh. "You're rather fond of yourself, aren't you? Not that I'd expect any less, from what I hear about you."

"At least you've heard of me," Draco said, affronted that he was being had by someone who had to be at least two years his junior, "which is more than I can say for you."

Astoria shrugged off his jibe. "I keep to myself."

"Why's that?"

"I just –" She furrowed her brow as if in concentration, but Draco had a feeling she didn't really need to think about it at all – "I don't know why, exactly, mind – but I just positively _hate_ everyone."

Taking her words and his own recently interrupted pity party into consideration, Draco nodded slowly. "I suppose I could empathize with that."

"Yes, I daresay you could," Astoria agreed, mimicking his solemn tone before dropping it abruptly as she went on. "You don't, though, not really, seeing as you don't spend your social life getting chewed out by irritable bowtruckles. See?"

Making sure that her legs were locked firmly around her branch, Astoria held out both hands for Draco to examine. He took a step forward to get a good look, and his gaze was met with several angry gashes that decorated the girl's otherwise flawless butterscotch skin.

"You should go see Pomfrey for that," he advised, and then wondered why he cared.

Astoria snorted as she withdrew her hands. "What, for bowtruckle bites?" she practically scoffed. "Circe's tits, you sound like my mother."

Draco balked at her language; although he couldn't recall having met Astoria before (honestly, he probably had, at some point, as the pureblood community was so tight-knit; he just couldn't _place_ her), he knew that the Greengrasses were a respectable family, and he marveled at how any of their kin could pick up such foul colloquialisms. "And you sound like a common Mudblood."

Upon the utterance of the slur, Astoria's playful mood evaporated and the twinkle in her bright eyes dimmed. "I don't like that word," she informed him. "Come to think of it now, I don't like you much, either."

"That would mean a right side more if you hadn't just confessed to hating everyone," Draco said, unfazed by her dismissal. As much as he didn't care to be jerked around by the likes of this little git, he had more pressing things on his mind than her objections to his vocabulary. He simply didn't have time to care what Astoria Greengrass thought of him.

"Oh, I think it means just enough." Astoria offered him a tight-lipped smile that almost reached her eyes. "After all, since when has Draco Malfoy ever been content with being lumped together with everyone else?"

A bit dumbfounded by such a quick and astute observation of his character, Draco could only stare as the bowtruckle girl flipped right-side up and began her ascent back into the private recesses of her tree.

"See you around, snakeskin," that sugar-coated voice called as her body disappeared amongst the branches. "Watch out for them leeches."


	2. Three, Two, One

_Listening to: "Laundry Girl," by Ludo._

* * *

**II. Three (Years), Two (Clichés), One (Muggle Jacket)**

* * *

Diagon Alley was bustling with witches and wizards, catching up and gossiping happily as though they hadn't a care in the world. And perhaps – aside from the occasional rogue garden gnome and temperamental teapot – they didn't, not anymore.

The Second Wizarding War had come to a close a mere month earlier, and the magical community was just regaining its sea legs. There was still grief and trials and raids, the Ministry was still in something of an upheaval, reporters were still hounding those present at the Battle of Hogwarts, but the fear that had hung so heavily upon everyone's hearts had begun to dissipate. The air was more relaxed than it had been in three years, ever since Harry Potter emerged from the Triwizard maze with Cedric Diggory's body, and tension had spread.

For the first time in so many months, the Wizarding world was breathing freely again.

That is, most of the Wizarding world was breathing freely. There were some who were too personally affected by continued government interference and the consequent prejudices to truly settle into calm.

Draco Malfoy pondered this as he made his way through the winding streets of Diagon Alley. He was alone, just the way he preferred it, and he stared straight ahead; he was still too proud to watch his feet as he walked, but not so bold as to meet anyone's gaze with his own. A month wasn't long enough to reinstate the old Malfoy prestige, and much of the community was still wary of the former Death Eater family. No matter how often Dumbledore's alliance vouched for them, Draco knew too well that there was no ridding his arm of the evidence.

The Dark Mark would never burn again, but still it stung Draco's flesh as pointedly as every last accusatory look that was shot his way. The looks, at least, he could ignore; it was himself that he couldn't escape quite so easily.

He was just passing Flourish & Blotts and considering another bottle of Ogden's to forget his problems when the door to the shop swung open with a merry clanging of bells, and he promptly ran into the person who was making a backwards exit.

"Shite, I'm sorry," a distinctly feminine voice apologized profusely as she bent to gather the books she'd dropped. "Entirely my fault, that. That's what I get for trying to talk to the shopkeeper and walk at the same time."

"That's all right," Draco said, helping the girl to collect her things. It wasn't something he'd usually do – at least, he wouldn't have, before the war, but that war had made him so much more timid and accommodating. He despised it but couldn't help it.

"Thanks." The girl smiled brightly at him as he handed her the books he'd gathered, and that's when Draco got a good look at her. She was rather tall – only a few inches shy of his own considerable height – and her hair was bundled in a loose knot that poked out of a newsboy cap. She was thin and angular and the worn Muggle jacket she was wearing was too big for her. Her smile was bright, her cheekbones sharp, and her eyes –

Draco thought his heart might have stopped. _Those damnable tree eyes._

"Greengrass," he said coolly. "Fancy seeing you out of your natural state of being."

"Oh – _ooooh_." Recognition dawned upon Astoria's face as she finally paid attention to the passerby she'd unintentionally accosted. "Draco Malfoy, long time, no see."

Draco dipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. In truth, he really hadn't crossed paths with Astoria over the past couple of years. They'd bumped into each other every now and then during his sixth year, but he'd been too preoccupied to think much of anything that wasn't the task he'd ultimately failed in. And this past year had been a blur of too much, more than Draco was willing to even think about, and so the girl with the bowtruckle bites had fallen by the wayside of his memory.

It was sure nice to see a friendly face, though, Draco couldn't help but think as Astoria's smile never wavered.

"Mother was actually talking about you the other day," she was saying as she shifted the pile of books in her arms into a more comfortable position. "Well, your whole family, more like. She fancies a cup of tea with your mum sometime, wants to catch up."

"Not much to catch up on, is there?" Draco said before he could stop himself. A dark look passed over his face as his eyes roamed the cobblestoned streets and the people who treaded upon them. "Everyone knows full well what the Malfoys have been up to."

"Yes, well…" Astoria's face fell a bit, but she was never one to be deterred, so she plunged forward. "I think Mother's thinking more along the lines of exchanging recipes – for the house-elves, of course, since I'm rather sure a respectable pureblood witch would spontaneously combust if she ever attempted such a menial chore as cooking."

Draco felt his lips twitch in something like a smile; it had been so long since the sensation had touched his muscles that it felt almost foreign now. "You'll have to give it a go sometime, let me know how it goes for you."

Astoria snorted, and Draco was reminded forcefully of the way she'd conducted herself in that tree the first time they'd properly met. "I said _respectable_, Malfoy, not 'hopeless disappointment to the family name.'"

"I can relate to that," Draco muttered, more to himself than anyone, but Astoria caught the words – and the resentment behind them – nonetheless.

"Sounds like somebody needs a drink." She inclined her head towards a pub down the street. "Can I tempt you?"

Draco supposed she very well could, but instead he asked, "I thought you didn't like me? Arbitrary hatred for everyone and all that."

"You've got a sharp memory, haven't you?" Astoria observed, impressed against her better judgment, since she had a feeling that it wouldn't be in her best interests to allow Draco Malfoy to impress her. She'd always had a weakness for beautiful, damaged things, that much was true, but Draco wasn't a thing; he was a person, and she supposed that made a world of difference.

He shrugged again. "What can I say, Greengrass? That was the last relatively normal conversation I had before… everything. I hung onto it."

Not usually one to be at a loss for words, Astoria was rendered speechless. She'd never known Draco particularly well, but he didn't strike her as the sort of person who would make such flippant remarks about something like that – the war, his part in it – so she was inclined to believe him. Not that that made it easier to come up with a response, but his honesty was a comforting realization all the same.

"Listen," she said, figuring she might as well take the leap, even if he was a person and not a thing, "our mums fancy a cuppa, anyway, so why don't you lot pop 'round our house sometime this week? Thursday, what d'you reckon?"

"All right," Draco was compelled to accept. He blamed it on the tree eyes, and the fact that she smiled at him so easily when so few people did nowadays. "Thursday it is, Greengrass."

"Brilliant." Astoria shifted the books around in her arms some more. "You're actually a bit of a lifesaver, because now _I'll_ be the favorite for getting you to come over, and Daphne can stuff it."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Healthy sibling rivalry, is it?"

"It's not so bad, really," she assured him with a one-shouldered shrug of her own. "I just like to gloat, that's all, so then Daph tends to cast a quick Silencing charm on me. It's a tradition."

Draco opened his mouth to say something else, but his half-formed thoughts were cut off by a shrill scream that made his heart drop into his stomach; he knew that bone-grating sound all too well…

"_Draco!"_ A pair of spindly arms latched around his neck and he found himself pulled into a surprisingly strong hug. "How _are_ you? It's been ages!"

"Pansy," he returned much less enthusiastically. He glanced over the top of the inopportune Pansy Parkinson's head in time to catch Astoria's smirk and her eye; she mouthed the word _Leech_ at him and he was forced to agree this time around. "When you say 'ages,' I can only assume you mean a few weeks."

"Of course, Drac-y," Pansy agreed for no other reason than to appease him. She gave him one last squeeze and then – _thank Merlin_ – released her viselike grip from around his neck. Her sharp eyes found Astoria, calculating shrewdly and judging mercilessly. "Who's this, then?"

"Astoria Greengrass," Astoria enunciated slowly before Draco could provide any introductions. "Daphne's sister. Pansy, you were at our house just the other day."

Pansy smiled, sickly sweet. "My mistake," she said. "I must not have recognized you in those… clothes."

"Right, because you're so used to seeing me starkers." Astoria rolled her eyes at Pansy's paltry attempts at some demonstration of dominance or ownership or whatever it was she was trying to pull off, and then turned her attention back to Draco. "Anyway, Draco, sorry for mowing you down, and I'll see you Thursday. Say, five o'clock? Merlin only knows Mother will want you to stay for dinner."

Draco nodded as Astoria made her leave. "See you then, Greengrass."

"'Bye!" she called, waving a hand over her head to signal her departure.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Pansy snorted derisively. "You know, I know the purebloods lost the war, but it's just bad form for such a prominent one to strut around in tacky Muggle clothes, don't you think?"

"I thought she looked rather nice," Draco observed dryly. He chose not to comment on Pansy's black-and-white interpretation of the war's conclusion; he didn't want to risk the migraine.

"_Nice?"_ Pansy pulled a face. "And what's all this about dinner at her place? You're not seeing her, are you?"

_So much for avoiding the migraine._

"No," Draco replied shortly. "Just another social event between influential purebloods, like the old days."

He couldn't help his bitterness, but Pansy didn't seem to notice. She chattered on about those old days, about how the two of them really should catch up when he was finished playing with Muggle-lovers (which she thought was a great joke), and on and on until Draco thought his brain might burst out of his skull, just for the sake of ending the agony.

But no matter how contemptuous Pansy was of Astoria Greengrass's less-than-proper attire and overall manner, Draco caught himself thinking that perhaps he had a newfound appreciation for Muggle clothing…

_Now_, he thought, surprised at the nearly-subconscious revelation, _where the bloody hell did that come from?_

That errant thought irked him, but Draco did the best he could to push it to the back of his mind as he rather indelicately brushed Pansy off with fabricated excuses, and made his way home to Malfoy Manor.

Although she contained her excitement like the dutiful, high society woman she was (or _once_ was, because who knew what their status was anymore?), Narcissa's joy at being able to get out of the house was obvious to her son as soon as he delivered Astoria's invitation. Lucius was less keen but didn't think he had room to complain, so he simply nodded along as his wife went on about what a relief it was, that a still-influential family like the Greengrasses would deign to have anything to do with the likes of _them_ – the misplaced Malfoys.

_Perhaps there's some hope for us, after all_, Narcissa thought, and she said as much out loud. It wasn't that Narcissa Malfoy was terribly concerned with own social standing anymore – the war had sullied her taste for the high life – but she worried for her son's rejection, not to mention the way he'd been folding into himself more and more these days. He was much too young to recede into the family home and disappear from the world.

But that was something she didn't see fit to say aloud, so she skirted around that specific topic and instead focused on brightening Draco's spirits.

Not that it was working, of course, but nobody could say she didn't try.

Much like his mother's enthusiasm, the gleam in her eye as she spoke of both Daphne and Astoria did not go unnoticed by the ever-observant Draco. Daphne was "a striking thing," well-placed in both beauty and status for any eligible wizard to consider for marriage. Even Astoria, who could be "a bit flighty" for Narcissa's taste, was a viable option for anyone looking to settle down. She hummed contentedly to herself as she went on and on about how lucky any man would be, to be paired with either Greengrass daughter on their parents' order.

It was then that Draco couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Astoria hardly strikes me as the type of witch who'd go along with that," he informed his mother, pretending like the conversation was of absolutely no interest to him. "Daphne's always been more amendable, but in my short exchanges with Astoria, I've gotten the distinct impression that she'd sod off anything she was _expected_ to do."

"Oh?" One of Narcissa's finely drawn eyebrows lifted in interest. "What makes you say that, Draco?"

He shot his mother a bored look. "She spends her time in trees and wears Muggle clothing," he drawled, rolling his eyes to demonstrate an impatience he didn't really feel. "Not exactly the picture of the pureblood princess, now, is she?"

"Hmmm." Narcissa's mouth pressed together in a thin line. "Perhaps not."

"Duty is duty, however," Lucius interjected, speaking for the first time in the past quarter of an hour. Leave it to Lucius Malfoy to be hung up on pureblood honor, war or otherwise. "There's still one's responsibility to their family names to consider, so I daresay Miss Greengrass would do as her parents wished, should the situation arise –"

"Not everyone is so malleable to their family's mold, _Father_," Draco snapped, his voice saturated in that bitterness he was coming to regard as his only true friend. The bitterness, at least, would always be there for him.

"Draco, that's enough," Narcissa scolded.

But he'd had quite enough himself before he'd been reprimanded like a child, so without a further word to either of his parents, Draco pushed himself off his chair and stalked purposefully (although he had no purpose to speak of) from the drawing room. He hadn't felt much like being in there, anyway, not when the memories of the crimes they'd committed there were still so fresh; it was as if he could still hear the screams.

He made his way upstairs and wondered if his aunt Bellatrix would feel the same remorse he did. It had been her, after all, who had done so many unspeakable things to so many people in that drawing room. But she was dead now, gone, and Draco didn't think he would have had the courage to ask her regardless, had she made it through the war alive.

Sighing heavily, burdened by an exhaustion he didn't think he'd ever shake, Draco dragged his feet along the second-floor corridor until he reached his bedroom. Not bothering to wave his wand to turn on the lights in the slowly darkening room, Draco simply collapsed atop his mattress, and let the darkness consume him.

It wasn't as if that were anything new.


	3. A Study in Adolescent Dirtbaggery

_Some things:_

_1. The flowers on Astoria's trellis that you'll be reading about are specifically: Marigolds (creativity and passion, reminiscent of Astoria's personality), cherry blossoms (relating to education, further relating to the lessons Draco is learning), and chrysantimums (optimism and friendship, which Draco is finding with Astoria). No, I do not care about any geographical or seasonal improbabilities, because SYMBOLISM. _

_2. Due to a discrepancy I'm not terribly concerned with, I've made Astoria a year older than she is canonically (in which she's two years Draco's junior, but whatever, now she's just one). I assume we can all deal with this like the mature adults we are. Yes? Yes. Okay, then._

_3. You will notice, too, in this chapter, that Draco is not the smoothest operator, as he is portrayed in many fanfics. Since this takes place so soon after the war, I see Draco as dealing with something of an identity crisis, in which he's having trouble hanging onto his old mannerisms and ways of thinking, and it shows – especially when he's around Astoria, who's sort of the picture of the anti-pureblood, despite her name, which isn't something Draco's encountered before. She's new territory for him, he doesn't know how to conduct himself, and that's a big theme of this story as a whole. (Plus, Draco's still a 17/18-year-old boy, and Astoria's pretty and it makes him nervous, in the simplest sense of things.) _

_Recap: Draco met Astoria in a tree at Hogwarts, and then on the streets of Diagon Alley almost two years later. Pansy showed up and annoyed everyone (including me), Draco wallowed in self-deprecation, and Astoria invited the Malfoys to the Greengrass manor for dinner._

_Listening to: "Teenage Dirtbag," by Wheatus._

* * *

**III. A Study in Adolescent Dirtbaggery**

* * *

"Astoria!"

"Mmhrrehgher," she mumbled into her pillow as someone attempted to shake her awake. "Go 'way."

"Astoria – Cassiopeia – Greengrass –" Daphne growled, giving the blankets a good tug with every word she gritted out from between her teeth. "It is eleven-thirty in the morning. Get. _Up_."

Astoria moaned loudly, overdramatically, and shouted into the depths of her pillow. "Morning!" she echoed like a petulant child. "It's _morning_, Daphne Ursula Greengrass, just as you said. Let me sleep."

"_No."_ With one final yank, Daphne succeeded in ridding her younger sister of the bedcovers, leaving her mattress bare and her body suddenly, shockingly cold. "I've had the house-elves put a cooling charm on your room, too, so don't think you're about to get any warmer."

"Daph-_neeeeee_," Astoria whined, groping blindly for a sheet or a blanket or her wand – anything she could use to maintain her body heat – but to no avail. Daphne had been too quick for her this morning.

"Ugh!" she groaned into her pillow some more. "I hate you."

Daphne grinned triumphantly and planted an obnoxious, smacking kiss to the back of her sister's head. "Yes, I know, and you're going to hate me even more when I tell you who's joining us for dinner tonight, aside from the Malfoys."

That got Astoria's attention. She peeked up at Daphne through her curtains of unkempt hair and scowled. "I don't even want to know."

"Oh, but you do." Daphne nodded grimly for the sake of dramatic effect. "Your favorite Slytherin's coming to dinner. Three guesses," she said, and held up the appropriate number of fingers.

"Slughorn?"

Daphne shook her head and dropped a finger.

"Salazar?"

Another shake and dropped digit.

Astoria screwed up her face in an expression of faux-concentration and asked, "Is it too soon to make a You-Know-Who joke?"

Daphne gasped and hit Astoria over the head with an extra pillow. "Yes!" she exclaimed, horrified at her sister's very inappropriate cheek. "Really, Tori, what's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry!" Astoria griped as she straightened up into a sitting position. "But I'm tired so I don't know what more you can really expect from me!"

Used to the younger Greengrass's nervous humor and general lack of decorum, Daphne settled with shaking her head and going back to the topic at hand. "The Parkinsons will be here. Well, Pansy and her mother, at least; her father's still awaiting trial in Azkaban."

Although she had known perfectly well who Daphne was talking about when she teased about "your favorite Slytherin," Astoria couldn't help the yell of sheer, anguished impatience that fell from her mouth: "AAARRGH!"

"Get a grip," Daphne ordered. "Theo will be here, too, so the two of you can make fun of her together like you usually do."

The mention of her sister's boyfriend and her own pseudo-brother, Theodore Nott, Astoria brightened for a fraction of a second before her face fell again and she said, "Yes, but that's two of us against three of you, not including the parents."

"Three?" Daphne echoed, confused. "Since when have Pansy and I counted as three? I hardly think we count as _two_, seeing as I don't much care what you and Theo snigger about, as long as you keep it to yourselves."

"I'm sure Draco would care," Astoria said, a little scathingly, as she loathed spending time with couples. Daphne and Theo, Pansy and Draco… What a brilliant evening this was shaping up to be.

Daphne was regarding her sister with an expression of mixed confusion and amusement as she said, "What would Draco care? Loath as I am to cast any aspersions on the character of my dear friend Pansy, it's not as though he's hung up on her. I'd sooner bet he'd join you and Theo in the sniggering."

"You didn't see them in Diagon Alley," Astoria reminded her. The memory made her vaguely itchy. "It was like the Slytherin common room all over again, only this time I could actually leave without worrying about curfew."

"That's just Pansy, though," Daphne said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She may not have been there to bear witness, but she was familiar enough with her friends' relationship to know better. "As far as I can tell, they've been good and done for at least a year now."

"Hmmph." Astoria beat her pillow to relieve some of her inexplicable irritation. "Perhaps someone should tell Pansy, then."

Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly and a grin crossed her mouth. "Dear sister, do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"_Jealousy?"_ Astoria repeated incredulously, but her refusal to meet the older girl's eye told Daphne all she needed to know. "Ha!"

"I wouldn't blame you, if you were," Daphne tried to placate her, a difficult feat when she herself was trying so hard not to laugh. "He's very good-looking. Rich, too, despite that spot of trouble his family got into during the war, and they're bouncing back just fine. I mean, at least Lucius isn't in Azkaban."

Astoria thought about that, but something about her sister's words and Draco's demeanor when she'd run into him in Diagon Alley a few days ago just didn't mesh. Handsome and wealthy the Malfoy family may be, but Astoria was far from convinced that they were bouncing back as easily as Daphne suggested; Draco's obvious umbrage had been evidence enough of that.

She very purposely neglected to mention any of this to Daphne, though, as it just wasn't her business to speculate on such matters. Astoria might not have been the most propriety-minded pureblood, but she did know when to keep her mouth shut, and this seemed like one of those times.

Besides, the last thing she needed was for Daphne to be on her back about whether or not she fancied _anyone_, Malfoy or no; she got quite enough of that from their mother. Now that Astoria was of age, Carya Greengrass had become nothing short of a courtship nightmare, reminding Astoria very much of one Mrs. Bennett from one of those Muggle books she and Daphne had fawned over when they were younger. It was a harsh reality when Astoria discovered the whole thing was much less romantic when it was actually happening _to_ her, instead of being tucked safely away in pages and the realms of her imagination.

Carya did not disappoint in her daughter's expectations for that evening, either, Astoria noted distastefully as she passed several house-elves on her way downstairs, all of them sweeping and dusting and polishing as if their lives depended on it. They probably did, too, Astoria thought grimly, knowing her mother.

"Fine time for you to be rolling out of bed," Carya said when she came into the kitchen (Astoria stuck her tongue out as soon as her mother's back was turned). "Really, Astoria, how are you ever going to make a proper wife if you can't get over this lackadaisical attitude of yours?"

"Hmm, I suppose I just won't get married, then," Astoria said flippantly as she flicked through the _Daily Prophet_ that sat on the counter. "Oh, what a shame."

Carya drew in a sharp breath and looked to her husband for assistance. Ophiuchus sighed heavily and said, "Astoria, don't tease your mother."

Astoria glanced up to meet her father's eyes, which were a mirror image of her own, and said, "I'm being perfectly serious."

"Oh, for God's sake…" Carya pressed two fingers to each temple and shook her head.

"What?" Astoria snapped, losing her temper a little. She'd been dragged out of bed before she'd wanted to leave it, informed that tonight's dinner might as well be a double date (featuring one Astoria Cassiopeia Greengrass as the fifth wheel), been accused of petty jealousy, and now her mother was jumping down her throat about china patterns. Of _course_ she was losing her temper.

"Honestly, I'm seventeen years old," she continued heatedly. "It's not as if my teeth are falling out and my womb is barren. Should I decide to wear an ugly dress and declare my eternal love to someone, I've got plenty of time!"

Carya glared at her daughter. "That dress is not ugly, young lady; it's been in the family for generations, and –"

"Oh, I assure you, Mother," Astoria interrupted with an air of the utmost sincerity, "that dress is _very_ ugly."

"You're impossible," Carya declared.

"I am not!" Astoria argued.

"It's just one little thing I want you to do –"

"Binding myself to someone _for_ _the rest of my life_ is hardly 'one little thing' –"

"You always have to make everything so negative –"

"Only because you're completely mad, did you really think you would produce mentally stable offspring, or –"

"ENOUGH!" Ophiuchus bellowed, effectively cutting off the argument that was playing havoc with his sensitive hearing. "Carya, we'll discuss Astoria's eligibility at a more appropriate time. Astoria, go upstairs and make yourself busy for the next five hours before you give your mother a heart attack."

Knowing better than to argue with her father when he bothered to insert himself into the conversation, Astoria mumbled her assent and – with one last contemptuous glare at Carya – left the kitchen in something of a huff.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room, blaring Muggle music at an astounding volume in order to assuage her mother-inflicted agitation. She read the books she'd picked up at Flourish and Blotts earlier in the week, studying the pages diligently so she'd be better equipped to assist Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class come September. Since she planned on working with such creatures after Hogwarts (a career path that her mother positively abhorred), she didn't need many N.E.W.T.s, and so she had the time and energy to put into assisting the gamekeeper-turned-professor.

Astoria was quite looking forward to returning to a Hogwarts that was unspoiled by war, she thought fleetingly as memories of the past year flitted through her mind; she shuddered and let go of such thoughts, but she couldn't help but pass a hand over her midsection as she did so. She flinched at the memory of pain but shook that off, too.

_No use dwelling on it_, she told herself, and went back to her studies.

* * *

The Malfoys Apparated outside of the Greengrass manor gates at precisely five o'clock, unconcerned about fashionable lateness since it was just an intimate gathering rather than a lavish party. Draco was thankful for the distinction; he never could stand those stuffy get-togethers, crowded with people who only knew him as "Lucius Malfoy's boy," but his relief was short-lived once he caught sight of two familiar figures up ahead on the path.

"I'll meet you inside," he told his parents, both of whom gave him disapproving looks before he added, "I just need a moment to get my bearings. Five minutes, ten at most."

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a look; neither of them were particularly keen on letting Draco go off on his own, but more than that they didn't want him to be uncomfortable in a situation he'd been so accustomed to before. The war had taken its toll on their son, and his sudden aversion to pureblood company was just the tip of the iceberg. Perhaps it would be best for everyone if Draco were allowed a solitary moment.

They nodded their permission and, grateful for it, Draco turned down a side path that led into the Greengrass manor's gardens, away from his parents and the Parkinson women who were bound to sniff him out sooner or later, and Draco would rather avoid another meeting with Pansy for as long as possible.

It wasn't that Pansy had done anything wrong, not really, Draco mused as he wound his way through the lush green gardens, bursting with flowers and springing with trees. It was just that they'd never officially called it quits – nor had they ever really called it anything to start with, come to think of it – and it wasn't a conversation Draco was interested in having. It just didn't seem _important_ anymore, and he knew Pansy would make a bigger production of it than necessary. She was attached to a part of his life that he wanted to shake, but of course she wouldn't understand that.

That was part of the whole bloody problem, too. Draco scowled and kicked a stray pebble down the path. Pansy didn't understand anything that didn't revolve around her and her narrow worldview – a worldview that Draco had once shared, but no longer. They weren't compatible and he wouldn't be happy with her. But how did you say that to someone without shattering their narcissism into a series of wracking, hysterical sobs that he surely wouldn't know what to do with? He wouldn't be able to console her, that was for sure, and he'd lost patience with Pansy long ago, so who's to say he'd even be kind or gentle about it? He didn't think he could manage it, honestly…

Draco released an aggravated breath and allowed his thoughts to wander off into nothingness. He picked at the sleeve that covered the faded ink of his Dark Mark – a blemish of war, a scar from a battle he'd had no idea what he was doing in. As if the memories weren't bad enough, he had to be branded by the physical evidence, too.

Why was it, he thought, that every time he allowed his mind to wander, it always came back to this? It was the curse of the Death Eater, he supposed, hating himself. Or perhaps it was just the weakness of a Death Eater with a conscience.

Draco walked on a bit longer in the same attitude, stewing in the memories that demanded to resurface, time and time again. He wondered how much longer he'd have to endure his past, and then supposed it wasn't something one got away from so easily, or – worst-case scenario – at all.

His musings were interrupted, however, when he turned a bend and came face-to-face with a wall of the manor, upon which leaned a trellis that was interwoven with creeping vines and blooming flowers – yellow and pink and white and purple, bursting into splotches of silken colors. Draco's eyes traveled upwards, following the ascent of the trellis up to a large, open window, from which leaked the sounds of a song he'd never head before.

Muggle music, he guessed, a bit distastefully, and then he put the pieces together and thought that Astoria must be somewhere beyond that window.

Figuring he didn't have anything to lose at this point, Draco snatched a pebble up from the ground and tossed it. He was rather impressed that he'd made it into the window at first, but his self-congratulations was disrupted by a loud, "Ouch! What the bloody –"

That's when Astoria appeared, sticking her head out the window to look for the culprit behind the rock that had just struck her upside the head. Expecting to see Theodore or perhaps even Daphne, Astoria's curse was cut short when her eyes landed on an uncharacteristically sheepish Draco Malfoy.

"Sorry," he said hastily while Astoria searched for something to say that didn't involve the word 'wanker,' or something of the sort. "I was trying to get your attention."

"That's all right," she assured him with a smile. "You got it, in any case."

"Sorry," Draco said again, all the while wondering when he'd become so apologetic.

As if to brush his apologies aside, Astoria waved a hand and asked, "What are you doing down there? The front door's around the other side of the house, you know."

"I… needed a moment," Draco told her, unsure of how else to explain himself because for some reason, he didn't want to talk to Astoria about Pansy.

"Right." Astoria nodded; she knew what it was like to shuffle from pureblood get-together to pureblood get-together, and she didn't condemn Draco's lack of enthusiasm. "Why don't you come up here for a mo'?"

"Er –" Draco looked uncertain. "I can't Apparate into your house, can I?"

"Just climb up the trellis, Romeo," Astoria instructed as she dipped back into her room to get ready for dinner.

Not quite sure who Romeo was supposed to be or what it meant for Astoria to address him as such, Draco did as he was told and wondered – again – what it was about this girl's smile that got him to do whatever she asked. She'd got his own smile back on his face more than once, got him out of his shell and out to dinner, to apologize without even making him feel obligated to do so, and now he was climbing up a sodding _trellis_ for her.

Once he'd managed that, Draco planted his feet firmly and leaned his elbows into the windowsill, not willing to allow himself full access into Astoria's bedroom. It seemed improper, and he was sure neither of their mothers would approve. Not that this situation was much better, he admitted privately, but all the same…

"So," he said as Astoria fiddled with the volume of the music, "this is your room?"

_Of course it is, you ponce_, he chastised himself immediately after the question was out of his mouth. _Pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?_

Astoria, however, simply smiled some more, glanced around, and affirmed, "Where the magic happens, yeah."

"And by 'magic,' you mean the embracing of Muggle culture, it seems," Draco observed as his eyes roved over several odds-and-ends that he wouldn't be able to identify if his life depended on it.

"Something like that," Astoria said, and she undid her trousers and began to pull her shirt up.

Completely taken aback, Draco sputtered a bit when he asked, "Wha– what are you doing?"

"Changing…?" Astoria said, confused, and then she laughed when she spotted the faint color that was creeping up Draco's neck, not to mention the fact that his eyes were now tightly shut. "Oh, come off it, it's not like you haven't seen a naked girl before."

Not willing to answer that with the truth, Draco did his best to compose himself and smirked. "Trying to show off for me, Greengrass?"

Astoria rolled her eyes. Never one for modesty or shyness, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that there was a boy hanging outside her window; if she had to change, she had to change, no big deal.

"Oh, yeah. Casa del striptease right here."

"Your Spanish is off," Draco informed her.

"Yeah, well…" Astoria grumbled a bit as she dropped her day clothes carelessly to the floor and slipped into a dress. "Good thing I'm English, then."

Draco shook his head, unable to believe that a witch of such respectable status could be so cavalier about it, and he more or less told her so when he said, "You're the sorriest excuse for a pureblood I've ever met."

"Glad to see you're getting your swagger back, Malfoy," Astoria said dryly as she did up her buttons.

"Just an observation. Are you done yet?"

"Aside from my lack of knickers, yeah, completely decent," she replied airily, grinning because she knew the comment would embarrass Draco further. "Don't be so virginal, please; it's not like you can see up my dress, anyway, and I hate wearing knicks."

Still bewildered by virtually everything about Astoria Greengrass, Draco opened his eyes to regard her. She looked the part of pureblood, he noted. Her pale yellow dress was simple but elegant, strapless but not indecent as the hem teased her knees. Her hair was a bit tousled, the way none of the girls in his acquaintance ever allowed theirs to get, but it was still lush and well cared for. Her skin was flawless, save the jagged bowtruckle scars on her hands, but Draco knew he was in no position to judge the marks on others' bodies.

In an effort to both dispel himself of those dark thoughts and figure Astoria out, Draco asked, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Astoria replied with a shrug, assuming that he was talking about her lack of knickers. "They're just so _constricting_."

"Not that!" Draco shook his head frantically; the last thing he needed when he was alone with this girl was talk about what was happening under her dress. She might be completely off-the-wall, but that didn't mean he was immune to her eyes, her smile, narrow hips and long legs… "Just everything about you, you're insane."

"I like to think of it as endearing," Astoria said, and flashed him a winning smile, "what d'you say?"

Draco shook his head again and felt his lips twitch in accordance with hers. "You're an enigma."

"Ooh, I like that." Astoria nodded approvingly. "I might even have to take back that thing I said – what was it, two years ago now? – about not liking you."

"That means the world to me, Greengrass," Draco said, his voice sarcastic but... teasing? _What?_ "You have no idea how much I've been plaguing myself with your disdain."

Astoria threw the renegade pebble at him, but he caught it easily.

"Damn it," she laughed. "You're such a sod, Draco Malfoy."

"You have no idea…" Draco smirked again and pocketed the pebble.

* * *

Astoria was thankful to be seated between Daphne and Theodore during dinner. She was far enough away from both Pansy and Carya, neither of whom she'd been looking forward to spending a meal with, and she was seated directly across from Draco, who was – as Daphne had said – inordinately handsome. So much so that it was almost annoying.

In an attempt to rid herself of inappropriate dinnertime fantasies, Astoria shook her head slightly (and kicked Theodore when he grinned at her, because of course he knew what she was thinking, he always did), and doomed herself to paying attention to the conversation.

"I saw the Turpins the other day," Carya was telling Narcissa. "Their daughter, Lisa – she's Daphne's age – is a lovely girl. Accomplished, really, and not at all opposed to settling down."

Here Carya shot a dirty look at her youngest daughter, something that Draco caught and responded to by raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the girl in question. Astoria simply lifted her eyes to the ceiling exasperatedly. Draco smirked.

"Did you know Lisa, Draco?" Carya asked.

He tore his eyes from Astoria and gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not well, no. We shared a few double periods over the years, but I didn't associate with many people outside of my own House."

Carya nodded approvingly; as much as her daughters appreciated Muggle culture and the like, their mother was much more narrow-minded than that, despite her tolerance for the girls' tastes.

"All the same, though," she continued, "Lisa is quite the eligible girl, if you were interested…"

Pansy choked on her wine, causing Theodore and Astoria to choke on their own laughter as they attempted to mask it with coughs. Daphne shot them both warning looks.

Unruffled by that minor disruption, Narcissa smiled at Carya and said, "Oh, I don't think Draco's in the market for a wife quite yet."

"Yes, I've got that problem with Astoria, too –"

"Mother," Astoria groaned, "can we _not_?"

"It never is too early," Pansy's mother, Priscilla, chimed in before Carya and Astoria could begin another argument. "Especially now, after all that business with the war, people are going to get the idea that breeding outside their social pools is an acceptable thing. Find a nice pureblood while you still can, that's what I say."

There were a few murmurs of assent at that, but there was no mistaking the heavy awkwardness that hung over others' shoulders afterwards: Draco shifted in his seat and avoided Pansy's eye; Astoria scowled at her plate; and Daphne attempted to placate both her friend and her sister with soothing looks.

Fortunately enough, the conversation turned away from marriage eligibility to one of a more comfortable nature. Draco and Theodore discussed job opportunities, and the latter assured his friend that he'd put in a good word for him at Borgin and Burke's; the shop needed all the help they could get at the moment, as they were under heavy renovations. Pansy and Daphne, too, regaled the table with tales of their employment at St. Mungo's, where Daphne was training to be a Healer and Pansy worked as a receptionist.

"What about you, Astoria?" Narcissa asked once Daphne finished telling them about the man with the curious boils she'd had to examine last week. "What are your plans after Hogwarts?"

"The general plan is to work with magical creatures," Astoria told her. "Actually, I'll be helping Professor Hagrid out this –"

_"Professor,"_ Lucius interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly at this information. "Don't tell me that oaf still has a job at Hogwarts? I thought, surely, that he would have mauled another student by now."

"Father," Draco muttered as memories of the hippogriff incident in his third year came flooding back, "please…"

Astoria, however, paid no heed to Lucius's mocking tone when she answered him. "Yes, Hagrid's rather brilliant, I think. We had a spot of trouble with the Blast-Ended Skrewts a couple of years ago, but we're leaving those for his advanced students now, which should help."

"Brilliant?" Pansy, who was hung up on Astoria's adjective choice, shot her a condescending look. "He's catastrophic, if you ask me. Draco's arm took ages to heal after our very first lesson with your _esteemed professor_."

Very deliberately, Astoria leaned forward and prodded Draco's arm with her fork. "Seems fine to me," she deadpanned. "Attached and everything. I assume you've got all your motor skills in order, do you, Draco?"

"Well, it _was_ four years ago now," Pansy said before Draco could respond.

"Any injury that lasts less than four years is hardly anything to gripe about," Astoria replied, just as coolly as before. "I've had plenty creature-inflicted scrapes myself, but as they were caused by my own stupidity and neglect, you don't see me going on about what a rubbish teacher Hagrid is. Several years after the fact, no less."

"Now, now, Astoria," Carya said while Pansy fumed, Draco's ears reddened, and Theodore tried not to laugh because Daphne was giving him that look again, "there's no need to be so argumentative. A bowtruckle is nothing to a hippogriff, and Draco's injury was very serious, I remember –"

"No, it wasn't, really," Draco said. He ignored the scandalized faces of his parents and dropped his fork. "I'm sorry, but I've got to excuse myself for a moment…"

Without another word or a glance in anyone's direction, Draco hastened from his seat and out the door.

Carya glared at Astoria. "Now look what you've done, you've upset him so much that he's had to leave his dinner."

"_Me?"_ Astoria said, her eyes flashing dangerously. Her mother was really in her element today, wasn't she? "I haven't done anything!"

"Out," Carya said, waving a hand in the direction of Draco's retreated back. "Out, and I don't want you back at this table without that poor boy. Make sure to apologize, _really_, Astoria…"

Although she wasn't eager to take the blame, Astoria _would_ take any excuse she could get to take a moment away from her present company, especially since Theodore looked so smug about something and Astoria was sure, at this point, that he was a practiced Legilimens. So she followed Draco's example, kept her mouth shut, and abandoned the table in favor of the manor's gardens.

It didn't take her long to find him, seeing as he hadn't gotten very far before he gave up and took a seat in a patch of neatly trimmed grass. Paying no mind to the state of her dress, Astoria dropped to the ground next to him and said, "I'm expected to apologize to you."

"For what?" Draco said, not looking at her as he viciously tore blades of grass up by their roots. "Having the audacity to tell the truth? Because that barely skims the surface of things I should be apologizing for."

"Oh, lighten up." Astoria bumped her shoulder against his. "I know my mother's a piece of work, but they all are, aren't they? I can understand your anguish, though. Me, I'm used to being the black sheep, but I suppose the experience is rather unfamiliar to you."

Draco turned to look at her. She was smiling again, completely placid and at ease, not a care in the world because somehow, despite the aura of strangeness and misplacement that surrounded her, she was perfect. She had to know that, didn't she? She was utterly, infuriatingly _perfect_, with her quick words and her confidence and that happy-go-lucky grin and messy hair and those summertime tree eyes, and Draco had no idea what he was thinking anymore, because one second it was tumultuously dark and he hated himself, and the next Astoria Greengrass was poking fun at him and making him feel normal and more than that, like she actually wanted him to laugh _with_ her.

He was happy and confused and he had absolutely no business feeling anything so uncomplicated, not after the things he'd done. He hardly deserved Astoria's company, let alone her friendship, because he was a disaster and she was perfect. And yet here she was, asking him to relax and have a laugh, and – hell if he knew why, but he couldn't say no to her.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Draco blurted abruptly, and he could have kicked himself for it. _So much for getting the old Malfoy swagger back._

"Sorry?" Astoria said, her usual poise shattered since she was so taken aback. "I – well – I mean, what about – Pansy, I don't think she'd be too happy if we – or I –"

"Well, I'm not going out with Pansy, am I?" Draco pointed out, his own confidence piquing while Astoria, for once, was the one who stuttered. "As much as your mother, at least, would be pleased otherwise, I'm not asking you to marry me. I just want to see you tomorrow."

"I – yes," Astoria heard herself saying. _Get a grip, woman. _"All right. Tomorrow, then."

Draco felt his muscles ease themselves of the tension he hadn't noticed was there. He tried not to think about what a prat he was turning into, but it was difficult since he kept acting like such an idiot. Astoria didn't seem to mind, though, so he supposed he could live with it, for the time being.

"Good," he said, and he was relieved that his response didn't involve any variation of the term 'thank you.' He couldn't be _that_ desperate, could he?

"Yeah." Astoria snuck a glance at that beautiful, broken boy next to her as he looked off into the distance of the gardens. She wondered what he was seeing. "I s'pose 'good' covers it well enough; eloquent as always, Malfoy."

"You see right through me, Greengrass," Draco said. His voice was lightly teasing again, but still he wondered, because… Well, if anyone could see right through him, he was almost positive that it would be the enigma sitting in the grass next to him.

And he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.


	4. Fade In, Enter You

_Recap: The Greengrass, Malfoy, and Parkinson families had dinner together, during which time Astoria suspects that Theodore Nott (Daphne's boyfriend) can tell she has a thing for Draco. Draco, for his part, feels he's being hopelessly obvious and desperate when it comes to his blossoming relationship with Astoria; this, combined with his continued self-loathing, is making his life more complicated, or so he feels. Nevertheless, Draco and Astoria plan to see each other again the next day, and that is where our new chapter takes place._

_Listening to: "Self-Conclusion," by the Spill Canvas (which has also provided the inspiration for this chapter's title)._

* * *

**IV. Fade In, Enter You**

* * *

Despite what he had to look forward to the next day, Draco's night did not pass easily into morning.

He was used to it – used to the unpredictability, to the pain, to the nightmares that would rouse him and render him sleepless for however many hours it took for the next day to come – but he never expected it to happen. No, he was unfailingly (and stupidly, to his mind) optimistic that perhaps the last time was the _final _time, and his plague would cease, and the mark on his arm would fade into nothing more than an unpleasant memory that he could lock away in the back of his mind.

But, in the end, that was never the case, and Draco supposed that he got what he deserved. He surrendered himself to numbness and tried not to think about it, to feel anything that thinking often made him feel. Maybe it was better that he couldn't sleep; at least his conscious thoughts were ones he could control.

He sat in his window and waited for the sun to rise.

* * *

"Someone's chipper this morning."

"What?" Astoria looked around from her closet to see Theodore Nott leaning against her doorframe, a cat-who-caught-the-canary grin painted across his face. "Chipper? I am not. I'm never chipper."

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Right. That's why I can hear you whistling from clear down the hall."

"Shut up." Astoria went back to her closet, determined not to confess anything to that great big git. Merlin knew he couldn't keep anything to himself, and the last thing Astoria wanted was for Daphne or – God forbid – her mother to get any ideas.

"Oh, come on," Theodore cajoled, smug smile still in place, "anybody with half a brain could put the pieces together, and we both know I'm much more clever than half a brain."

Astoria gritted her teeth as she shuffled through her clothes. Of course Theo had it pegged down, she thought ruefully; it was precisely as she'd feared. It wasn't that she objected to his involvement in her personal life, but Astoria hated fancying someone as it was. It was always so fumbling and awkward, and it was ten times more stressful when other people knew about it.

She wouldn't put it past Theo to slip the information to Draco, either, so Astoria figured she could double that times-ten, while she was at it.

"Well, then, if you're so clever, I don't know what you're bugging me for," she pointed out, trying to avoid anything that might tip him off as a concrete confession. "You've already got it all figured out, then, don't you?"

"You know, it wounds me deeply that you don't confide this sort of thing to me," Theodore said. "You're like the sister I never had, and you don't even tell me when you want to get one of my mates naked."

Astoria shot him a dubious look over her shoulder. "Theo, I don't think that's the sort of thing a sister confides to her brother, anyway."

He shrugged. "You're not denying it."

"I wouldn't," Astoria allowed. Might as well admit it if he wasn't going to drop the subject. "But you are being rather pervy about it, you know, it's not like I only want a shag."

"Fair enough." Theodore nodded approvingly. Although he was of the opinion that Draco could use a good shag, he wasn't keen on the idea that Astoria would be a suitable one-off. That would involve him having to break Draco's face, and Theodore wasn't keen on that idea, either, not if he could help it. "So what _do _you want, then?"

"For you to go away."

Theodore gave her a look. "You know what I mean, Tori."

She sighed. Yes, she did know what he meant; the trouble was she wasn't entirely sure how to answer him.

"I don't know," she said. She gave up on her closet for the moment and flopped down on her bed, and felt the mattress shift as Theodore joined her. "I sort of had a thing for him when we were both at Hogwarts, but I didn't think about it much. There was so much else going on…"

Astoria's hand passed over her stomach and even though she didn't notice she'd made the movement, Theodore did. He frowned as he recalled everything Astoria had been through during her most recent academic year. Hogwarts had been a death trap for anyone who didn't embrace Voldemort's ideals; Astoria, for one, hadn't exactly been quiet about her objections, and – despite her pureblood status – she'd paid the price.

"Anyway," she said before Theodore could offer any words of comfort, "point is, now that's all done, and I don't really know if any of it changes this thing with Draco. Not that there's a _thing_, exactly, but… whatever. He's a mess – who could blame him? – and I want to help."

"You can't fix him, Tori."

"No, I know that." Astoria shook her head. "I wouldn't want to be put on some pedestal for his salvation or something. I don't think I could. I just want to be around, so he doesn't feel as lonely as he looks."

She turned slightly to regard Theodore with a curious expression. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Sure," he said, and he did. He only worried that Astoria's penchant for taking care of things – to do what she thought was _the right thing_ – might get in the way of her doing what she really wanted. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, and he understood that, but Theodore had a feeling that perhaps Draco would put her on one if she kept on like this.

Best not to mention it right now, though, Theodore knew. Astoria would get defensive, and it would only end in a fight.

"I'm not saying that this will turn into anything, either," Astoria was saying as Theodore mused. "I don't want you to think that I only want to help him because I reckon I'll get something out of it. I just –"

"I think he likes you," Theodore interjected. "Draco, I mean, seems like he fancies you."

Astoria's mouth opened and closed, rendered speechless for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She supposed that must be some kind of record.

"He doesn't – I mean, you can't – you don't _know _that," she finally managed to splutter. "For God's sake, Theo, you just saw the both of us at dinner last night, so I don't know how you come up with this rubbish."

"There was nothing _rubbish _about the way he was looking at you," Theodore said, amused, but serious enough for Astoria to take his word for it. "The only girl I've ever seen Draco with is Pansy – and I think he'd have gone for that Bones, too, if she didn't turn out to be so chummy with Potter's lot. Anyway."

He waved a hand as if to brush that point aside. "What I mean is that he never looked at another bird like that. I'm not saying he never fancied anyone else, because there was awhile there where he and Pansy, believe it or not, were going pretty strong.

"But then…" Theodore paused for a moment, thinking, and then he continued. "That Draco – the one who was with Pansy – wasn't good for you, anyway. The two of them were good for each other, exactly what they both wanted. But now? Well, I don't think he's the same sort of bloke he used to be."

"Doesn't seem that way, no," Astoria agreed, a bit absentmindedly, as she mulled it all over.

Yes, she'd had a thing for that old Draco, but it had been the sort of from-afar, it's-never-gonna-happen, no-harm-in-fantasizing, thing. She hadn't _known_ him, and more times than not, he and Pansy had just irritated her whenever they were in close enough proximity for her to notice. But now…

"None of that means he fancies me, though," she said. It wouldn't do her any good to entertain too many optimisms. "Aside from that tosh about the way he was supposedly looking at me, which I don't believe, anyway."

"Fine." Theodore rolled off the bed. Astoria would figure it out for herself, he was sure of it. "Tell me that again after your date."

"It's not a date!" she protested, but Theodore had already left the room, and she was left alone to process everything that he'd said.

* * *

The day was cool and overcast, a relief from the summer heat of late, and as a result of the more dreary weather, the streets of Diagon Alley weren't as bustling as usual.

Draco, for one, was grateful for the lack of the Wizarding community. He'd had quite enough stares and whispers, and it was nice to get a reprieve when he was out in public. He was sure that such irritation wouldn't roll so easily off his shoulders today, either, not when he considered his lack of sleep from the night before, something that Astoria had noticed.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked as they sat at a wrought iron table outside of the Leaky Cauldron. "You look a bit peaky."

"Fine." Draco nodded and swigged at his caffeine-spiked gillywater. Tea would have done the trick, but he hated tea. "Just a long night. Happens when I've got to do dinners like that – stressor."

"Don't I know it," Astoria agreed, thinking of her mother. "We could have rescheduled, though."

Draco gave her a slightly exasperated look. "_Fine_, Greengrass, I said I was fine."

"Okay, okay." Astoria blew bubbles in her cherry soda. "You sound cranky. Did your mother give you the third degree like mine did?"

"No." Draco grinned at the face Astoria was making as she thought of how difficult it had been to get out of the Greengrass manor earlier. "She just told me to have a nice time. That's not interesting, though – tell me what _your _mother said."

Astoria laughed at his eagerness, and Draco felt better when the sound escaped her lips.

"It was just the usual schpiel," she told him. "'Where are you going? Who are you meeting? What are you lot doing?' I was terribly noncommittal about everything, but then Theo came in, he thinks he's so clever, and he told her the truth."

Or a version of the truth, Astoria thought, as he'd said she had a date with Draco, and she wasn't optimistic enough to call it that. Still, she was going to keep that particular tidbit to herself.

"I take it she wasn't pleased?" Draco said, noting the look on Astoria's face.

"What?" She shook herself of her own internal struggle. "Oh, no, she – well, actually, she didn't seem as happy about it as I thought she'd be, but then I suppose she thinks you're too good for me. Probably feels bad for you."

"I think you've got that backwards," Draco replied, and he felt wretched again. Because, really, what was a girl like Astoria Greengrass doing with the likes of him? He wasn't any good for her – he wasn't even on the same level. She could do so much better than him.

Astoria, however, shook her head.

"No, I've got it right," she assured him. Aside from her determination to make Draco feel better than he gave himself credit for, what she said was just as much the truth. Carya was always lamenting the waywardness of her youngest daughter, and she'd positively doted upon any mention of Draco Malfoy over the years, and Astoria decided she might as well tell him as much.

"My mother loves you, really," she said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial fashion. "Ever since Daphne started at Hogwarts with you, it was all Draco this and Malfoy that, and weren't you just the _sweetest_ thing? So charming and handsome and from a well-to-do pureblood lineage, such a _catch _–"

Draco held up a hand to stop her. "Your mother is bonkers."

"I _know_." Astoria blew more bubbles into her soda. "But she was right about you, so quit being so self-deprecating."

"You think I'm charming and handsome?"

Astoria met his gaze, and she was sure he didn't mean for his to look so hopeful. Surely cool, collected Draco Malfoy would be a little more suave than that?

"Shut up, Malfoy, you know you are."

Draco smiled – it was still so strange to him that he could do that – and he felt like such an idiot for allowing her words to affect him so deeply. He used to feed off others' praise, yes, but now he was letting it get to him in a way he wasn't familiar with.

He meant to tease Astoria a bit more – teasing, that was even stranger than the smiling – but he was interrupted by the appearance of an old friend.

"Goyle," he said in greeting, to which he was rewarded with a rather gruff snort. Goyle never had been much for conversation, but Draco knew him well enough to know that he wanted a word.

So Draco turned to a curious-looking Astoria and said, "Excuse me a minute, would you?"

"Right, yeah," she said. "I'll be here."

Astoria only had to wait a few short minutes while Draco went inside with Goyle. She barely had enough time to obsess over how the afternoon was going, and then he was back. Probably for the best, she thought, as obsessing over a bloke had never resulted in anything good for anybody.

He took his chair and a long draw of gillywater, and then he said, "Crabbe's service is next weekend. I hadn't heard. Hadn't thought of it much, honestly, it's been awhile, but I suppose venues and all that have been booked…"

"Oh." Astoria blinked a few times, unsure of what to say. The mood had certainly shifted, and she scrambled to keep pace. "I'm sorry. Do – uhm – you know, actually, I'm not sure what to say."

"That's all right." Draco shrugged. He didn't want to think about Crabbe, how he'd watched him slip into madness and die because of it. "There's not – it's difficult, I guess. I don't know."

Astoria thought about that for about ten seconds, and came to the conclusion that nothing else could be done for it, so she said, "D'you want to get drunk?"

"It's noon."

"So? Noon's acceptable." Astoria was already getting up from her seat to head inside. "It's not like it's _morning_."

Draco watched as Astoria inched closer to the pub's door, walking backwards so she could keep her eyes on him. She crooked her fingers suggestively and said, in a singsong sort of voice, "Come on, Malfoy. You know you want to."

"I don't –"

But Draco stopped, mid-protestation, and he watched Astoria as she danced on the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron. She hopped back and forth between her feet, a wild grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. The slight breeze tugged at the fabric of her dress, and the hem clung to her stockings, and it inched up ever so slightly to reveal a split seam in one of the thighs.

She didn't care – hell, she probably didn't even notice – and Draco found himself, once again, thinking about how perfect she was, in the most messed up, imperfect of ways. She was a pureblood who didn't belong in such a class, and that didn't bother her in the slightest.

She was, Draco realized, a voluntary misfit, and she loved every second of it.

"All right," he said, and pushed himself out of his chair. "Drunk it is, then."

Astoria jumped up on the balls of her feet and, when he was near enough, grabbed his hand.

"You won't regret this, snakeskin," she said as she dragged him into the dim light of the pub. "Cross my heart."

* * *

It was dusk by the time Draco and Astoria staggered through the Greengrass gardens, attempting to keep a low enough profile so that neither of her parents would catch them in such a drunken state.

"Okay," Astoria said on a peal of giggles she couldn't control, "enough walking. I need to sit down."

She dropped down onto the grass and stretched out onto her back, staring up at the wide, pink-and-gold-dusted sky. Draco, for his part, couldn't sit up straight without his head spinning, so he joined her not a moment later.

"I don't think I should take your advice anymore," he told her seriously. "My head's already pounding."

"You liked it," Astoria said. She breathed in deeply, taking in the scents of the well-manicured lawn, an array of flowers, of stale firewhiskey and the boy beside her. Blimey, maybe getting brain-dizzying drunk with him wasn't her smoothest idea… "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh that much."

"Maybe you're just not as funny when you're sober," Draco pointed out.

Astoria kicked him, and he kicked her back.

"You can't kick me," she attempted to argue, but the effect was sullied somewhat by her continued laughter. "I'm a girl!"

"So? You started it." Draco grinned and kicked her again. "And I know you're a girl, by the way; that hadn't exactly escaped my notice."

"Yes, what with all my feminine charms –" Astoria shrieked when he poked her in the side, and slapped his hand away. "_Don't _do that, I'm awfully ticklish, and then we'll be caught for sure. I scream real loud."

Draco laughed. It had hurt a little, the first few times he'd done so when they'd been in the Leaky Cauldron, like his muscles weren't used to being used that way. But now, cushioned by hours and alcohol, there wasn't anything painful about it at all.

"You probably shouldn't have told me that," he scolded her. "I'll be sure to retain that information, and you're going to regret it later."

"What, the ticklish thing?" Astoria snorted. "Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh, Malfoy?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Taken aback by his boldness that she wasn't quite accustomed to as he hardly showed it these days, Astoria turned to look at him with wide (albeit bloodshot) eyes, and found him looking right back at her. Oh, that look in his eyes was enough to make her knees weak, Astoria thought, and felt her stomach clench in a frenzy of a delighted sort of discomfort.

"Sorry," he said, and his gaze dropped to her lips. Her pretty, always-on-the-verge-of-smiling lips. "But I think I have to –"

They were only an inch or so apart, and Draco closed that distance between them, taking her surprised mouth with his determined one. Her lips parted under his insistence: She tasted like tangy, sweet relief, and he lost himself to it.

One of his hands reached up to cradle the side of her neck, and Astoria's went to clutch at the material of the shirt around his waist. He felt her fingernails bite into his skin, and it spurred him on to kiss her harder, their breath catching and mingling and deepening almost painfully as it wracked from their lungs and into the other's mouth.

Astoria shifted until she was straddling his hips, and she caught his collar to pull him into a sitting position. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and her free hand roamed over his shoulder, down his arm, across his midsection. She felt his heart slam against his ribcage, against her palm, beating out a quick and unsteady rhythm that only accelerated as she slipped her tongue over his.

Draco's hands moved around her sides, down her back, sweeping over the curves of her body in long, tender but unrelenting caresses. His fingers clutched at her hip, wrapped into the length of her hair, swept over the length of her thigh and traced the split seam of her stockings. He could feel the heat of her skin through that tear, and the way she moved her hips against his at the contact made him groan.

"Astoria," he mumbled against her mouth, and his breath caught on her name when her fingers tugged at the snap of his trousers. He grabbed her wrist to stop her. "Wait –"

"Shit, I'm sorry." Astoria pulled back immediately, realizing a second too late what she'd been about to do, her senses having been clouded by her hormonal, I've-fancied-you-for-ages state. _Too fast, too fast… _"That was stupid."

"No, it's my fault." Draco's grip on her wrist slackened, shook. He was breathing heavily, trying to regulate his heartbeat, but all he could smell was her and that did absolutely nothing to get him back to normal. "I just – I'm sorry, I wanted to – kiss you. God, I wanted to so badly, and this… escalated."

Astoria grinned at him, a bit sheepishly. "I get overzealous sometimes."

"I'm not complaining," Draco said, and he really, certainly wasn't. God, no.

He wanted to keep kissing her, he wanted to let her wandering hands do whatever it is that wandering hands tended to do, but how could he? What was _wrong _with him? He was the last sort of person Astoria should be with; she shouldn't be kissing him in the middle of her family's gardens while the sky darkened and crickets chirped to compete with the slamming of their heartbeats.

He was no good, Draco knew that. He was no good for _her_, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

"I have to go," he told her, regretfully, but he had to do it before he started all over again. "Before I lose my head. Bet your mother wouldn't be so keen on me if she found us drunkenly snogging."

"Well, I'd snog you sober, too, if that makes a difference," Astoria said, but disentangled herself from his lap, anyway.

"I'll keep that in mind, Greengrass," Draco said with a smirk. He stood with her and kissed her, one more time, quick but clinging. "You're trouble."

She smiled. "Wouldn't be any fun if I wasn't."

No, Draco thought, that was definitely true. He had always been attracted to the very things that were worst for him, and look where it had gotten him – sleepless nights and conscious self-loathing. Trouble had never been on his side.

But perhaps this time… Draco sighed as he watched Astoria disappear on her way back to the manor, the shadows encasing that skip-in-her-step silhouette until all Draco could see was a long and winding garden path, and all he could hear was the crickets and the breeze through the trees.

He turned away, headed down the path that would take him to the front gate, and thought that perhaps _this_ trouble – this stunningly imperfect, out-of-sorts trouble – well, perhaps it was exactly the kind he needed.


End file.
